Just Passing Through
by criminally charmed
Summary: AU - years after the Winchester Brothers last saw any of the Thunderbirds, a visitor shows they have NEVER been forgotten, even after they are no longer active in the "family business". A small thank-you for my readers.


**Just Passing Through**

_**Disclaimer - I own neither Supernatural or the Thunderbirds. This story will make much more sense if you have read my earlier crossovers of SPN/TB, Payment in Kind and Calling in a Marker. Those stories were AU after half way through season four, so Sam never went to Hell, the Armageddon never happened, Dean never went to Purgatory. But the brotherly bond is back here and don't we need that? I am claiming this as a crossover only because the OC of mine that shows up couldn't exist without the Thunderbirds.**_

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Dean Winchester was still an attractive man, even now that he was past the half century mark. Silver was liberally threaded through his blonde hair and wrinkles framed his piercing green eyes but he was a clear case of "men don't age, they mature".

Not much was known about the man, even after nearly two decades of living in Lawrence, Kansas. The house that he lived in had been owned by a trust – one that it later became clear was half-owned by Dean.

Years earlier, Dean Winchester had pulled up in a 1967 Chevy Impala and parked in front of the house. The neighbors were curious because the last tenants there had been informed the month before that their lease would not be renewed. A college professor and his two children had moved to other lodgings, confused, since they had been good tenants. Now there was this man.

Something about Dean Winchester screamed "Dangerous – approach at your own risk". He had ignored the neighbors and quietly moved into the furnished house. He would leave early in the morning and return late in the evening. He spoke to no one.

Two months after Dean had moved in, he didn't leave before most people as was his habit. Instead, he paced back and forth on the porch, double checking some work he had done on the rare times he hadn't disappeared. The neighbors wondered about the work – had the man been hired to bring the house up to some kind of code?

Soon a van and a car pulled up, with the driver of the van handing Dean the keys and having him sign some papers before driving off in the car. It was only as Dean climbed into the van and drove away that they realized that his muscle car was parked in the garage. Hours later, Dean returned – and it was then a particularly sharp-eyed neighbor noticed it wasn't just any van.

It was a handicap accessible one.

The neighbors were almost shocked when they watched their mysterious fellow resident. Gone was the gruff, fierce, unapproachable man they had all been watching for weeks. As Dean helped a younger man from the van, there was a tenderness about him that was unmistakable as he placed him in the waiting wheelchair.

The younger man looked up and smiled when he saw a little boy – six-year-old Tommy Baker – watching him. Tommy smiled back and ran over, ignoring his mother's call to the contrary.

"Hi!" Tommy said cheerfully. "I'm Tommy."

"I'm Sam," the wheelchair bound man said. Pointing to Dean, he nodded. "And I'm sure you know my big brother, Dean."

"Nope," Tommy grinned before leaning forward. "My mommy says he's scary."

Sam chuckled and leaned forward. "Not really – he's just overprotective."

"'Cause you got hurt?" Tommy asked curiously.

"Well," Sam sighed, giving Dean a wry glance, "this just made it worse."

Dean groaned and manipulated Sam's chair to what the neighbors now realized was a wheelchair ramp. "That's it, Sammy – I think someone needs a nap."

Soon the neighbors got used to the sight of Sam on the porch, often surrounded by the neighborhood children. The younger brother was fiercely independent and soon got a reputation for being a great cookie maker and story teller. While the community watched carefully at first, in time they relaxed as they realized that the children were perfectly safe and the brothers would never harm a child.

When a pedophile made the mistake of trying to harm one of the children, Lawrence, Kansas learned that the brothers were not so unforgiving of others. The man must have thought that Sam, in a wheelchair, was no threat. But Sam put up enough of a fight when the man snatched up the six year old girl that when Dean responded to his brother calling his name, Dean flew at the pedophile, beating him nearly to death, only Sam crying out "Dean, Stop!" making him stand down.

That incident not only assured the neighbors, but must have also relaxed Dean a bit, as he stopped hovering quite so much over Sam. Soon he was working at a local garage, fixing up classic cars. In time Dean gained a bit of a reputation, with people bringing older cars that many younger mechanics "just didn't get".

When the neighbors realized that the trust that had owned the house was owned by the brothers – well, that was about the same time they discovered the trust owned several buildings in Lawrence: a small store, a diner, a rooming house near the college...all apparently owned by the brothers. One old timer finally connected the pair with a young man and his wife who had lived in the old house until a tragic fire had killed the woman. The old man remembered the grieving widower had piled his four year old and six month old sons into the back of his car and driven off, never to be seen again.

So what had happened in the decades since? What little the brothers said when asked made it clear that they were alone in the world, the father probably long dead. The way the Winchester Brothers moved, acted...many guessed they were ex-military. Maybe special forces? It would explain their reluctance to discuss the past.

It could also explain the strangers who sometimes stopped by. Dangerous looking men and women would sometimes drive up. Maybe to talk to Sam – never on the porch where he entertained the children, but inside the house, in a study where Sam did research – on subjects he would not discuss with the neighbors. At other times, the strangers would nod to Sam as he sat on the porch, reading, only to follow Dean into the basement. They would leave with a package or just a sense of purpose. One curious soul asked – or rather got the sheriff to ask – and Sam had given one of his disarming smiles.

"Oh, Dean knows how to fix armaments."

The sheriff had raised his eyebrows at that and turned to Dean. "Weapons?"

Dean just shrugged. "Hobby of mine. Specialty weapons can't just be taken to anyone. I don't keep anything dangerous in the basement, Sheriff – feel free to go look."

So the sheriff had and had come out satisfied. Heck, he even brought an old long rifle he had found at a swap meet for Dean to fix so that his Civil War re-enactments' could be more realistic.

Years would go by. Dean dated but never became serious. Even Sam occasionally went with a woman. As he commented to his brother, "It's only my legs that don't work." On the whole, the brothers were a curiosity but were eventually assimilated into the community.

Then one day, a car sputtered to a stop, practically in front of the Winchesters' house. Sam, sitting on the porch, enjoying the shade on a humid August day, looked up and set down his book as a young woman climbed out of the car.

"Dean," Sam called out.

Dean came out of the garage where he had been tinkering with his old Chevy again. "Yeah, Sammy?"

Sam gestured towards the car even as he manipulated his wheelchair towards the ramp. Dean quickly moved to get in front of his brother when Sam moved towards the woman. It was only when they were almost upon them that they froze in surprise.

The last time they had seen this woman was years before and she was a ghost even then. But ghosts don't usually drive cars – do they? Oh, there was the occasional possessed car, but really?

The blonde smiled at them and it was then that they realized that the ghost of Lucy Tracy had been around thirty – when she had died. But this young woman – no, girl...she couldn't be more than nineteen or twenty. And that was pushing it.

"I don't know what happened," she smiled. "It just died. Do you know a reliable shop?"

"Dean's a mechanic," Sam said. "He can take a look."

Stepping back with a smile, she let Dean pop the hood before turning to Sam and holding out her hand.

"Samantha Tracy. Most people call me Sammie – well, a few call me Sam."

Sam chuckled. "I'll stick with Sammie. I'm Sam Winchester and Dean is the only one who calls me Sammy." Cocking his head, he asked a question he was sure he already knew.

"Which Tracy son is your father?"

Sammie smiled. "I swear, I meet more people in Kansas who know my family. Daddy warned me that I look too much like his mother for people not to know. But I always thought I just looked too much like him."

Dean glanced over and gave a small smile. "Alan," was all he said before leaving, heading into the garage and returning with a small tool kit.

"You know my father?" Sammie questioned.

"Boston," Sam explained. "We knew him when he was a student at Harvard," Sam said, turning his wheel chair around and heading towards the porch, gesturing for Sammie to follow him.

Once they were back in the shade, Sam poured a glass of sweet tea from a pitcher on a low table and offered it to Sammie. Even as she accepted and sat down next to him, she picked up the book he had been reading.

"So you only know my Dad from his college days?" Sammie asked with a smile.

Sam shrugged. "He's a good writer. How is he?"

"Good," Sammie answered. "Keeps busy – but working for Tracy Enterprises, his writing and raising four kids will do that to a man."

Sam sighed. "God, it's been like twenty years since I've seen Alan. It was not long after he graduated college. He and your mother hadn't been married long. No you, though."

Sammie grinned. "Dad called me the Christmas Present. I wasn't born or even conceived then, but it was when the family found out about me. So it was a few months after..."

Dean's still powerful frame stood over Sammie, watching as she trailed off. "After the second incident with your family – the one when your "family business" saved our bacon."

Not even trying to deny it, Sammie smiled complacently. "It's what both families do – saving people, right?" Looking around, she shrugged. "You may be semi-retired, but according to Aunt Kate, you still keep your hand in the fight. Fixing or creating weapons for hunters done by Dean and research by Sam, right?"

Sam fought down a smile as Dean snapped, "Isn't Scott Tracy able to tell his wife she is ex-FBI yet?"

Sammie grinned. "Nope. And to make things worse, my cousin DJ is at Quantico, studying to become an FBI agent."

"We are square with the Tracys," Dean bit out. "And don't think I didn't notice that the distributor cap was loose. You can't tell me a Tracy kid couldn't have figured that one out."

Still smiling, Sammie shrugged. "I may have loosened it up the block. But I promised Aunt Sarah I would check up on you."

Finishing her sweet tea, Sammie looked at the brothers. "We never stopped looking out for you. When Sam was hurt? Why do you think he was transferred to where he was? The rehab hospital is run by the Tracy Charitable Trust. Aunt Emily oversaw his care. When you signed off to save my father when he was at Harvard – and yes, I know all about the crazy ghost and his crazier wife – Aunt Kate promised you this house and the rent money in a trust. It was years before you contacted the manager to tell them you needed the house or the money – in fact, it was only when you were told Sam wouldn't walk again. Aunt Kate isn't one to let money sit around. Why do you think the trust also owns the other rental properties?"

Since the brothers had already surmised that was the reason, neither was shocked by that. But that Sam's care had been underwritten by the Tracys was a surprise.

Sammie stood up, pulling a book from her bag. "This is Dad's latest book. He signed it for you – and included his e-mail. He'd love to hear from you. Give the guy a break, he's got four daughters – he could use some male companionship that isn't family once in a while. Maybe you can even catch him before he leaves the farm." At Sam's puzzled look, she explained.

"It's become a tradition – when a Tracy grandkid goes off to college, their father takes them to the old farm in Bailey, Kansas, and lets them drive off from there – just like my great-grandfather did with grandpa. Uncle Scott did it with his sons, Uncle John with Elizabeth and Keith, Uncle Virgil with Michael. Now Dad with me. Next year it will be Dad with Johanna and Uncle Gordy with the terror twins. Most of us have "happened" to drive by – I'm just the only one nosy enough to speak with you."

"You could have just pulled in and introduced yourself," Dean grumbled.

Sammie gave a saucy grin that was all-Alan Tracy even as she started down the stairs. "What would be the fun in that? Oh, and Dean? Aunt Sarah said to call her by sundown or she's coming after you. And Uncle Scott said Sheriff Landman is expecting you to visit on Miss Millie's birthday next month and not to make her come and get you."

Pausing as she reached her car, Sammie Tracy smiled again. "I know you thought it was just you two against the world. I guess I just wanted you to know, it hasn't been – not in a long time."

Mrs. Winslow, a particularly nosy neighbor, walked up right up to Sammie as she got into her car.

"So," the gossipy woman sniped. "You know the mysterious Winchesters?"

Sammie looked at the woman in disdain, her chin raised in an aristocratic manner that quickly put the woman in her place. With a voice that dripped ice in the summer heat, the blonde coolly eyed Mrs. Winslow.

"Those men are true heroes. They saved a lot of lives and I am partially even named for Sam. So show some respect," Sammie hissed before waving to the brothers and driving off.

"Told you," another neighbor whispered to his wife. "Must be soldiers. Probably some black ops group. We're lucky they are on our sides."

As Dean went back into the garage (after Sam made sure Dean sent a couple of quick e-mails from his smart phone), and Sam returned to his book, life settled back into it was. But the looks became a bit prouder and the community a bit more protective of the brothers after that day.

After all, they had to watch over their heroes, didn't they?

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_**A/N - So the brothers settled down, have a fairly normal life. They keep a hand in hunting, but for the most part, just live quietly. If you remember, they did save Alan from the ghost of the evil Hood. Later, they were saved by the Thunderbirds, aka the Tracy Family. Sammie was born after that, so this is around twenty years after the end of the second story. Dean had become friends with the Sheriff in the Tracys' hometown of Bailey, Kansas, as well as Virgil's wife, Sarah Tracy, so those are the two people he had to contact - or else. Emily - John Tracy's wife - is a doctor, who runs the Tracy Charitable Trust, which mainly is medical in it's purpose. Kate is Scott's wife who is an ex-FBI agent, and is the product of my dipping my story in the Numb3rs universe. And if you do know anything about my stories, yes, there are four daughters of Alan and Tin-Tin Tracy, their son being born when Sammie was in her early twenties. Based on what I wrote before, Sammie would actually only be 17 and on her way to the Air Force Academy in Colorado. **_

_**I am taking some time off at the moment, but wrote this to try and relieve a stress headache after it popped into my head. Yes, I will return to the Thunderbirds series I am writing (an AU of my AU of the movie verse) sometime next year. Hey, that is less than a month from now, right?**_

_**I wanted to take the time to thank everyone for the prayers for my family that have been offered over the last few years. As many of you know, my father was diagnosed with cancer in 2008. In 2010, we were informed it was terminal and they could only try and give him some quality of life. By Halloween of this year, I called my Dad something I never thought I would - fragile. At best, I realized, we would have him through Christmas.**_

_**We lost him two days after Thanksgiving. **_

_**So it was a just over a week ago that I held my daughter, held my mother and tried to hold myself together as my father died. It has been sureal, confirming his final plans, writing his obituary, picking out flowers...and trying not to completely fall apart. I came so close to writing death fics this week. Instead, I wrote a story of hope. Because I had to. Thanks for reading and all the kind words. Consider this a small way of saying thank you.**_

_**And do me a favor? Go tell someone you love them. Because we never know when the end will be. We can only hope that someone is there to hold us when it happens.**_


End file.
